My Grandparent's Reaction to Modern Comedy

         

       It’s a Sunday night and I am sitting at my dining room table writing a paper for my literature class. My grandparents on the other hand are sitting on the couch watching “The Money Class.” Being that the dining room and living room are attached, both the paper and the depressing show on television make me want to jump in my purple car and drive to Las Vegas or something fun and exciting. So I jump in the shower, blow out my hair, do my nails, call friends and complain about my life all in between writing my paper. That’s when my grandmother asks me to find something good on television. So I sit down next to my grandfather on the couch and grab the remote. “Move over,” I say. I refuse to sit behind the Christmas tree that is blatantly placed in front of the left seat of the couch blocking anyone’s view of the television.

After flipping through the channels I realized that we have none. My grandparents blocked all of the good channels like Showtime and HBO after catching  me watching Road Trip in the TV room. How was I supposed to know there would be a scene where girls walked around the bathroom topless?    

 Anyway, the lack of choices was really stressful. I knew what she wanted, a lifetime movie. I knew what I wanted, The Shining. We were both out of luck so I settled for Wedding Crashers. I don’t love comedy, feeling it lacks depth, but I figured, a laugh couldn’t hurt.

I was skeptical about their reaction to Wedding Crashers. I knew my grandfather would love the beautiful women and my grandmother would scream out in disgust after every curse word. After 5 minutes she did scream, “Bianca, change this now!” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “But there is nothing else please, it is funny.” 

Every time something controversial was said my grandmother had a nice remark. “That woman is old for him,” That woman is young for him,” and the list goes on. Then she asked, “Who is better looking, the blonde guy or the other guy?” Referring to Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn. “I think they are both ugly,” I said. After analyzing the two actors for about 5 seconds I really couldn’t find any level of attractiveness in either. When Bradley Cooper emerged looking AMAZING, I had some input. 

That’s  when my grandfather brings up the video, the video that withholds the power to make or break my grandmothers heart. “Have you see the video where Steve is a priest?” I knew exactly what he was talking about, and Steve was not a priest. “Let me see Bianca,” my grandmother insisted. I was hesitant but I let her watch the video anyway.

You have to see the video to truly understand the effect this had on my grandmother. Her child, her precious son who she always viewed as the most sane in the family, dressed up in Miami Dolphin costume playing “Lord Dolphinius,” the Miami Dolphin God. “What have all my children gone crazy?” she cried out after my uncle ends the scene sprawled out on the floor posing with his hand on his butt. “He shouldn’t be joking with religion." Typical response I suppose. In the end she says something in Italian along the lines of “What the fuck was that?” and “Oh shit, my family from Italy can see this,” eats a bowl of cereal and goes to bed. I didn’t realize that pushing comedy on her would lead to profanity. I’ll go to confession next week. 

ATTACHED IS STEVES VIDEO AS "LORD DOLPHINIUS"

          

Italian Passion

"No, I will not go on a cruise with you" I told my grandmother.

It is hard enough, living in a house with an elderly Italian couple in love.

The worst is when my grandmother says, "I cannot wait until Bianca brings home a nice boy." So I started bringing nice boys home for dinner.

They usually like my grandmother’s food more than they like me. 

I just bring them to shut her up anyway. It is a win, win.

Italians in love are like dogs, loud and you can't get away from them.

I had to delete half of my friends from Italy on Facebook because they eat up my newsfeed with romantic pictures, quotes, songs and links. 

I do not care that you and your boyfriend of two weeks are "in love." In fact it annoys the shit out of me. It is better off that I am not exposed to your absurdity.

Know how many friends I have lost touch with because of "love?" (I am specifically referring to Italians here. Take this as nice cultural anthropology lesson for you.)

Right now, at this moment, I am going to let you in on a little secret.

 ITALIANS CHEAT. THEY ARE SERIAL CHEATERS, STAY AWAY. 

I don't know why. It must be that Italian passion. Everyone deserves a taste? Don't hold this against me. I never cheat… never. At least not according to my rule book. It isn't cheating unless you are married with children, and the children are under 10 years old. Now that is a reasonable rule, don't you think?

Anyway, back to the Italians. Every time I go to my small Sicilian town I hear a new cheating story.

Damnit, everyone in the entire town knows that child has another father, how the hell doesn't the husband know? The kid could be half chinese and the husband wouldn't have a clue. I find it quite amusing.

"How interesting, your daughter looks absolutely nothing like you. In fact she looks exactly like that man over there."

Now, this is exactly what I would say if I wasn't afraid of disappearing. So I keep my mouth shut and stick to gossiping about it with my cousins.

Thank goodness half of my friends can't read in English. About the other half, I would assume they are the educated half, open minded and accepting of my sarcasm.

For some reason, every time I visit my town, people know exactly where I am at any given moment.

I feel like a freaking celebrity every time I visit. Once, I found my picture on their website. I mean, I was getting milk from the store. Was it necessary to put up a picture of me holding a grocery bag?

One beautiful summer, I made the beautiful mistake of dating a boy from my town. I bet most of you know exactly who I am talking about.

He was not my boyfriend, just a fling. I stopped having boyfriends at 14 years old. I believe love comes once. The rest are for passing the time. 

I could be seeing someone for months, once they call me their girlfriend, I run away. Like, come on, who do you think you are? You need my permission to call me your girlfriend, stop acting crazy.

I guess I have commitment issues?  

Anyway, the two of us together was a bad idea. Neither him, nor I cared about what anyone had to say. We walked around the town holding hands like it was no big deal. Until people started asking if we were engaged. "Engaged? Please we haven't even slept together, gosh."

"YOU HAVEN'T SLEPT TOGETHER!"

Unless I wanted my grandparents to send me on a plane back home, and it to be written in the newspaper, I was not going to sleep with him. Small towns to blame that kid didn't get some.

Anyway, they did not believe a word of it. Probably because they are used to compulsive lying. With all of the 13 year olds running off with 24 year olds, you have to expect compulsive lying. My fling was only 3 years older than I. I had morals.

One night, a local restaurant owner offered my friend and I some beer and started conversation. He was a cool guy and I didn't think anything of it. Maybe because I was an innocent 15 year old. When my friend told me we had to leave because he was flirting with us I nearly cried. "Him, flirting with us? That is insane, we are 15, we know his daughter."

Now I know better.

His daughter was an acquaintance. We used to smoke cigarettes together behind the "office." You know, the secret place everyone smokes cigarettes, which is not actually a secret because everyone knows about it.

Just like the park. Everyone knows you are going to the park with your boyfriend for one reason, and one reason only. Just make sure you look in the mirror before you re-enter the piazza.

One night, I made the mistake of making out with this kid in the park.

When I walked back into the piazza, not knowing I had black shit all over my face, people began staring. To top it off, my entire face was red from his stupid half shaved beard. Then I remembered, I was wearing black lip liner. Mistake! Wrong time to be gothic, right?

Anyway, we were quite the couple. He was so bad ass and had the best blonde hair ever. It spiked up to one foot above his head. I have pictures if you'd like. He would also draw for me, and meow at me from down the street.

To top it off, he may or may not have been a distant relative and that kind of excited me. Good thing we weren't actually engaged or that might be a problem.

I miss that town, however, I am reluctant to go back. It is the strangest town.

There are no homosexuals.

No lesbians, no gays, no threesomes, nothing. It is like the twilight zone or a bad movie.

I come from New York City. You cannot fool me. Hop out of the closet and onto the bandwagon. It must be no fun stuck in that small closet, in that small town.

I will visit one day soon, to find everything just the same, crazy just the way I like it, and beautiful just the way I remember it.

Sexual Healing, Makes Me Feel So Fine

“Sexual Healing, Makes Me Feel So Fine”

If you ever want some sexual healing, you should head over to the “Burning Man Art Festival” outside Reno Nevada where self-expression, experimentation and healing is prominent. This year approximately 27,000 tickets were sold. That is a lot to work with if you are looking for a good time.

            After some relationship complications, one young couple decided to give “Burning Man” a shot. I would describe this couple as tree hugging, life loving and consciousness praising college students who should be looking for a more practical major than philosophy instead of experimenting at an art festival. If not for career prospects, than for their mental health.

            “Burning Man” was quite the experience for Tom and his girlfriend. After some dancing and chanting, they decided they needed some “sexual healing.”  Having insecurities about his performance, Tom sought higher guidance. There, he found the master, Dr. Love, and his girlfriend was along for the ride.

            “I am uncomfortable with the thought of being with a man,” said Tom while talking to Dr. Love and his girlfriend. They were taken aback. They were not, by any means, on the topic of homosexuality. Dr. Love did not take his statement lightly. In fact, he saw it as a green light to jump on the bandwagon.

 “I am sensing a lot of sexual tension,” said Dr. Love to the couple. “I think we should explore this further. We cannot ignore this problem.” Tom and his girlfriend were having problems, so they were all ears. Next thing they knew, they all went into bed together and began to cuddle.

“I am sensing some jealous energy,” said Dr. Love, as he pet Toms girlfriend. “Yeah, maybe I am a little jealous,” said Tom confusedly. As if being a little jealous that some man fondling your girlfriend is a serious issue that needs addressing.

            Part two of the healing process was the admiration of the penis. “You need to value the true power that the penis withholds,” said Dr. Love. “I want you to put your pants down, observe your penis, and recognize the power of its procreation and its power to please. The penis is a tool for pleasure, holding the deepest power of your consciousness, as well as its past traumas within it.” Dr. Love was obviously preying on their vulnerability. Tom and his girlfriend were deeply involved in his words. I don’t know how they fell for it, but they weren’t hesitant in trusting him.

“Now, go and use the power of your penis to help that girl,” said Dr. Love, pointing to an obviously depressed girl sitting on a tree stump. Tom looked at her and back at his girlfriend. After his girlfriends undeniably foolish, but expected consent to please the girl for the “sake of her healing,” he gave her some of that “unrestricted power of his penis,” with her consent as well. If all went as planned, I am sure the girl is floating around in ecstasy, relieved that all of her ailments were healed through the power of the penis.

Now, Tom and his girlfriend are in a “Polyamorous relationship.” A romanticized way of saying “I am screwing other people and we both know about it so it is ok.” Dr. Love convinced them that it is only fair they share their sexuality with others. “Since you give your love to one another, why shouldn’t you share that love with those who may really need it?” said Dr. Love. Tom and his girlfriend took this very seriously, being very enthusiastic about their newfound “Polyamorous” relationship title. There was even a sexual workshop run by Dr. Love later that day, and I am sure they are now his newfound poster children.

“I never explored my sexual energy with Emma from college,” said Tom. Which is basically another way of saying, “I want to get with this hot girl from school.” Now in days people either take sex too lightly or too severely. In their case, they are putting sex on a throne and bowing down to it. At least someone is getting some. Ill just sit at home and write about it. 

My Tutor is a Creep

“My Tutor is a Creep”

If you didn’t already know, the MCAT is that dreaded exam that future doctors need to ace to get into medical school. For some, it is the most important exam they will ever take in their lifetime. Acing the MCAT requires months of diligent studying and thousands of dollars in preparation materials. This is the exam that will make or break you.

I once went on a date with a guy who went all the way to Poland for medical school. Great MCAT score, decent grades. One screw up and you’re on the ship out.

Somewhere else in this pool of men was another studying for the MCAT. He was in the library two to three times a day while I was celebrating my last weeks of college. How do you think that panned out?

Anyway, one of my best girl friends from high school is currently studying for this exam. I don’t know what she hates more, the fact that she studies for 8 hours a day, or her tutor, an anesthesiologist who smokes hookah during their tutoring sessions. “Do these questions and I will be back,” he would say.

He is so comfortable with Pam, that he asks her to set him up on dates with her friends. Pam’s house is always filled with 22 year old girls.

“His students and their friends are potential dates,” Pam’s dad said. “But these girls don’t have the patience for old and overweight doctors.”

“He just made it difficult for me to function,” Pam said. “I had to fire him.”

Pam is so unemotional and blunt, that firing him was like brushing her teeth in the morning, simple and necessary. And luckily, I had front row seats.

“I don’t care what your argument is. I don’t need your tutoring services anymore. I am cutting inefficient things out of my life and you are one of them,” Pam said to her tutor.

“How can you say we don’t get any work done? We have come a long way,” he responded. He was desperate.

“I have reached a plateau and there is nothing more you can do for me,” she said coldly.

How could he question Pam? She is no joke.

“We are sitting there, studying, for 8 hours. It is astonishing how much we get done given how much I despise him,” she told me. “And he is unreliable, sometimes he shows up three hours late.
When I asked her how her tutoring sessions went, this was her response. “Sometimes, he will ask me to do a problem and I will reply with, “I want to take this pen and stab you in the eye.” Interesting, I thought to myself, he is actually eliciting serious emotion out of Pam. This is bad.

“Are you going to get another tutor,” I asked. “Not right now, I think I have PTSD, I cannot handle another tutor.”

When Pam’s mother came downstairs to talk about her decision in firing the tutor, she sighed and said, “Bee, can you pass me the chocolate?”

Rough times.

The man is clearly upset, but that is not her problem. Don’t get me wrong, she learned a lot, but how long did he honestly expect to stick around for? Now he can smoke all the hookah he wants, but on his own time.

My big fat Italian grandmother

Diets are dreadful. Speaking from experience, dieting is damn near impossible for an Italian person. EVERY night my grandmother has a three course meal laid out on the kitchen table. Hot, fresh and irresistible.  Gluttony seems to be a virtue in my home. 

Not having an appetite during dinner time is NOT an option in an Italian household. Refuse food, and you better expect the entire family to glare at you. Refuse food once too often and you’ve got an intervention coming. 

At some point, during my senior year of high school, I decided to eat…. less. I didn't exactly care to loose weight, but everyone seemed to think anorexia was really cool or something, so I tried it. 

Not so cool. 

 After shedding a few pounds, my family took action. They cornered me like I was a criminal.

“You are taking diet pills aren’t you,” my crazy aunt shouted accusingly. This went on for a while. Eating was the only way to make it stop.  

No worries, I still got one of the skinniest guys in school. 

As a child I was quite the animal (and insect) lover, (I go through many phases).

When meal times rolled around, my family would laugh. “You’re not a vegetarian today,” my grandmother would say while throwing a meat dish at me. How horrifying for a young, innocent child.

I held them in such disdain for being so cruel.

As for my bizarre compassion for insects. Saving snails from the boiling sauce pan was a hobby of mine. I should have known better because in Sicily this was a crime... In Sicily everything is a crime.

 My family found my behavior absurd. How could I ever jeopardize their “lumache” dinner? "Stupid Americans," they would say. 

“The snails are so tasty,” my 12-year-old cousin Marilena would say while sucking the snail out of its shell, “Buonissimo.”

Where I come from, I am sure they do not know how to say vegetarian. 

Italian and vegetarian is like oil and water or Israel and Palestine.

One summer, my good friend Paula confided in me. Her father was selling my grandmother a rabbit! I cried, kicked, screamed and ran away to my 6th cousins house for the morning. They didn’t care; they ate the rabbit and told me about how good it was later.

I am no longer a vegetarian, but when I realized where that rabbit came from--my friend’s father’s farm--and that my friend’s father slaughtered the innocent animal, I became…traumatized and depressed.

Food is way too big of a deal for these people. I don’t even know how we are related.

Being a dancer you better expect most of your friends to have an eating disorder. The day I told my friend Annie I thought I had an eating disorder she laughed. I however, was very concerned about my supposed problem and on the verge of tears. I truly believed I was anorexic. 

“Your version of being anorexic is eating like a normal person,” she said. 

To my grandmother, I was sinning. And I’m still not sure who is right.

The way my grandparents prepared for the storm

Life is strange.

I hadn’t stepped a foot outside of my house in over twenty four hours and I was begging to feel like I was in a time warp.

One too many scary movies and vampire novels later, I attempted to face my irrational fear of getting blown away by the wind.

First I looked out the window.

Branches were waving back and forth, the wind was whistling, and the block was desolate.

I went outside anyway.

After 2 minutes I ran back in, shut the door behind me, and never looked back. “I’ll just watch more television,” I thought to myself.

The previous day, I came home to an interesting set of grandparents, as well as an unusual amount of tomato sauce in jars.

I am talking boxes and boxes filled with jars of tomato sauce surrounding the living room.

At first I thought my grandparents had stocked up on food. When I realized it was only the condiment, I was confused.

“We are so tired. We made a lot of sauce today,” said my grandmother.

My grandfather was sprawled out on the sofa, reading the paper as usual.

I could not care less about their day, what they did, or how much sauce they made. I was worried about the hurricane and how we were going to survive.

Earlier my mother actually suggested I buy a life jacket for my grandmother because she cannot swim.

I ran through the cabinets and fridge to see if any food was stored. Besides tomato sauce, there was milk, orange juice, veggies and pasta.

“We cannot survive the weekend, stuck in the house, on this!” I said. “There is going to be a hurricane, remember?”

Honestly, we are Italian. We eat a lot. There was not a sufficient amount of food to keep us happy for 2 days. I mean, I know I would get cranky.  

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Nothing is going to happen,” said my grandmother.

“Oh, we made so much sauce today,” she continued. “We aren’t used to working this hard. My friends woke up at 5am to start making sauce. I don’t know how they do it.”

I was glad we had a 4 month supply of jarred tomato sauce, I really was, but at that point in time I wasn’t concerned about how great my pasta was going to be that Sunday.

“We have to go food shopping!” I screamed. “Get in the car. We need water, canned food, hummus, guacamole, chips.”

“No no no no no,” said my grandfather. “Tomorrow we go to store. Tomorrow we put chair in shed. Tomorrow we lock window.”

His broken English pissed me off even more. So I decided to eat my dinner.

Funny enough, I brought sushi home that night.

They looked at the sushi as if it had three heads.

“What is this? Hooshi?”

“No, shooshie,” said my grandmother.

“Eat it, I am full.” I said.

She responds with, “Good. Don’t eat anymore, and don’t get fat.”

My grandmother then did something very, very dangerous. She took a huge chunk of wasabi and wrapped it in ginger. As she began putting this concoction to her mouth I screamed, “No, you cannot eat that!”

Phew, she actually listened and put it down.

Then I went through the process of explaining to her the rules of sushi.

Grandfather was next. He attempted the same exact thing. At that point, I was hysterical laughing.

What does marriage to do people? Slowly but steadily turn them into clones?

“Sal!” Grandmother goes. “Look at this. Taste this.”

They were both fascinated and confused all at the same time.

“Where do I put this? How do I eat this? What is this?”

Then my grandfather continued to put his two senses in.

“Does Shooshie mean dirty in English? I ask because Sugido means dirty in Italian.”

I am used to this nonsense talk. I don’t even respond to his question.

So many questions about something our generation was raised with.

When they finished eating the sushi I was relieved. Never again would I bring home something other than pasta or pizza for them to eat. It was actually a health hazard.

One minute later my grandmother is cutting up cheese with a knife and putting the knife to her mouth as if it were a fork. This is typical. I worry about her sometimes.

My grandfather continues reading the paper. He is now talking about Libya. Still no concern about the hurricane.

I can’t help but continue laughing. My grandmother then approaches me, with curious eyes.

“What is wrong with you? Why are you laughing so much?”

She probably thought I was drunk.  Their behavior was completely typical. I was just looking at it from a different lens.

In all honesty, my grandparents’ lack of concern really calmed my nerves.

About the hurricane, we were fine and had some banging pasta that day.

When I Decided I Had the Power to Change Societal Norms

“Changing Societal Norms”

I recently came up with the brilliant idea to completely change and rearrange societal norms. It takes one person to start a trend and I personally believe I am cool enough to influence others. After taking Sociology 101 I thought to myself, “our rules are stupid, boring, and it is our fault. Let’s make our existence a little more interesting." I mean, come on, some people are just so BORING.

The first step in this process consists of completely new language made up of of clicks, moans, screams, yips, rapid blinking of the eyes and head shakes. How much fun! I began in my attempts to change our language by throwing these sounds into my sentences. Soon to find out people were referring to me as the girl who constantly made sex sounds. This upset me. This was our new language people! Thinking back, I wonder about my choice of sounds. Maybe I was sexually repressed? A few years will do it to you. Anyway, I kept with the clicks and head shakes. I figured our society is so obsessed with the possible existence of aliens, why not start acting like them. I know I enjoyed "Signs."

Next came, the call, the luring call, behold. The socially accepted way we attempt to attract potential partners is semi-annoying and fairly time consuming. Some people take the easy way out, by texting DTF to whomever they wish, which could either go very bad or very good. We want something which is easy but not too risky. I say we simply jump up and down while pointing. This is simple, obvious and does not cross boundaries. Best part is, everyone around will know who you are after and back off, very efficient.

I wondered what people would think about this. At one point people thought the person I was pointing to was a robber, criminal or something along those lines. They threw him out of the bar. What a shame, he was a handsome fellow.

Sadly, it seems as if no one took to my ideas. I have been very upset due to the negative outcome of my master plan. But don’t worry, surprises are on their way.

HOW I MAGICALLY REUNITED WITH MY PREVIOUS DOG LOVING SENTIMENTS

If you know me, you know that I am by no means an animal lover, especially a dog lover. I am an individual who likes peace and quiet in their home. I like to read, think, sleep, pretend to be sleeping, and do all sorts of other things that involve silence. Therefore dogs are by far the most annoying animals to me. They bark all the time, constantly jump on you, need to be taken for walks, and worst of all, you have to clean up after them when they make on the neighbor’s lawn. 

Gross.

One day everything changed. Something semi tragic happened and against my grandparents wishes I volunteered to take two dogs into our home. It was all for good reason. The dogs were going to be let loose in the park. I won’t get into the nitty gritty but what was I supposed to do when I discovered this? Say 'Tough luck, peace,' or 'I have been chilling at home for the past few weeks but I’m too busy to help you out?' So I said yes.

After volunteering to take the dogs in my grandmother began to worry that after 55 years my grandfather was going to divorce her. 'Please,' I said, 'I think that I was more trouble growing up than any 2 dogs and why would he ever divorce someone who cooks so well?' At that point she had no words.

So I drove to the Bronx to pick up the dogs. They weren’t in very good condition to be honest and at first I didn’t really want to touch them. Then I asked myself, 'What diseases do dogs carry? Syphilis, gonorrhea?' I didn’t think any were possible, so I took them home.

To my delight the dogs were behaving so well, running around the house like a cute little couple. I began to feel warm inside. 'How bizarre,' I thought. 'Do I actually like these dogs? Can’t be.'

 I resumed with my daily activities but couldn't keep the dogs off my mind. I wanted to take them for walks in the park, feed them dog desert from Petco and give them bows. But my grandmother wouldn't let me bring them into the kitchen while she cooked and my grandmother ALWAYS cooks. 

“Biancaaaaa, wake up," my grandmother screamed at 8am one morning. "The dogs need to be walked. This is your responsibility Bianca. They have been barking.” Was this the type of thing people with dogs did? Wake up at 8am? 

The walk wasn't so bad actually. I quite enjoyed running around the block with two little dogs and it couldn't be bad exercise. I thought about keeping them but knew my grandparents would throw a fit at the mention. They would disown me before taking the dogs in for good. 

So after a day of tears, sweat and anxiety attacks and with the help of good friends, I found the dogs nice families. We cleaned them up as if we were groomers and sent them on their merry way. I won’t go into detail about the grooming of the canines. Luckily the dogs weren’t too angry and neither was the friend helping me out. 

I  wish I didn't lose the before and after pictures, sorry.